Sleeping With Ghosts
by EnigmaAngel337
Summary: Soulmates never die...
1. A Great Escape

All Christine wanted in the world was to escape…

After the death of Christine's father, her mother struck gold in terms of marriage. The Massey family became everything that a high-class family should be. They were the stereotypical "fancy dinner parties every week" kind of family. Christine, however, was the only imperfect part of what she would loosely call her "family." From the very moment that she announced her decision to keep her father's name, Daaé, she could sense the immediate feeling of disconnect from the Massey side, including her mother.

Mr. Massey in particular had a very presence that screamed self-proclaimed superiority over everyone else. His tone of voice, even in the most casual conversations, was belittling.

Another day, another glamorous party. Christine stayed out of sight as much as possible, and certainly didn't speak unless directly spoken to, which was a rare occurrence. Everyone was sitting around the table, mindlessly chattering away while Christine sat silently, pushing her food around on her plate.

"Are you not pleased with your meal?" an older lady sitting next to Christine asked her sweetly. Unlike most of the other guests, this woman really did mean well.

"I'm just not very hungry, thank you," Christine responded softly, giving the lady a half-smile.

Mr. Massey's eyebrow raised as he overheard their brief exchange. "Is there a problem, Christine?" he spoke across the table, getting everyone's attention and causing the table chatter to silence completely. Christine timidly shook her head and stared down at her plate, wishing to just disappear. "Then why are you not eating?" His eyebrow rose further with his question. Christine continued looking down and refused to answer his question.

"Such an insolent child," one of Mr. Massey's employees whispered too loudly, clearly trying to gain his employer's favor. "Why have you not disowned her yet," he said, semi-jokingly.

"Yes, why have you not disowned me?" Christine whispered under her breath, thinking that no one could hear.

Her step-father, however, easily picked up on Christine's words. "That can easily be arranged," he spoke with authority. Christine looked at her mother expectantly, waiting for her to interject. When that did not happen, Christine took matters into her own hands.

"Oh? And what authority do you have to do that? You're not even my father!" she challenged, staring straight into his eyes, daring him to counter her argument.

"You will not speak to me that way, child!" His eyes were shooting daggers at Christine across the table.

Infuriated to her breaking point, Christine slammed her hands down onto the table and shot out of her seat. "If it was up to you, I would have been disowned years ago," she screamed. After shooting another lethal glance at her mother's husband, she stormed out the door and up to her room, fuming with anger.

Her mind blinded, all she could do was turn to the one thing that had been with her for her entire life: music. She whispered a familiar song to herself that her father had taught her shortly before his death, tears escaping from her eyes. "Why did you have to leave me, father?" she asked aloud, making the tears fall harder.

She knew that she had nowhere to go, yet she knew that she couldn't remain here with these horrible people. They would surely drive her to madness if she did not somehow escape soon. As her tears had begun to calm, Christine heard the most beautiful music that had ever met her ears. Strangely, though, it sounded miles away, like it was coming from somewhere outside. And it was a bizarre sound, one that she certainly recognized as music, but nothing like she had ever heard before. It called to her, beckoned her to some faraway place, away from her pain and suffering…away from those who did not care for her, and into the arms of music, her eternal friend. In a haze and unaware of her actions, Christine followed the sweet sound. Nothing else mattered except for the sound that surrounded her and filled her very soul.

The sounds carried her floating down the streets of Paris. It carried her across the cobblestone pathways, seemingly miles away from her home. The more she traveled, the closer she seemed to come to the source of this strange music, still sweet and flowing in her ears. It continued to guide her like a shadow hand in the night, pulling her toward her desired destination and away from heartbreak and pain. Her mind was far too entranced to contemplate the absurdity of her traveled, and her heart was far too damaged to care.

As she grew closer to her unknown destination, the music began to intensify and take form. First, the melody formed a silhouette that roughly took the shape of a grown man, though it was nothing more than a shadow cast by darkness. A string of chords followed, adding detail to the shadow: an arm that slipped around Christine's small waist, a ghostly hand that threaded its fingers through hers, and lastly a perfect face that whispered sweet words and sounds in her ear. Together they walked hand-in-hand, Christine led by her musical manifestation.

The shadow led her to a place that she vaguely recognized as the Paris Opera House, its gilded exterior reflected in the moonlight. The mysterious notes hit a crescendo as they entered the building, Christine still being led, intoxicated by this sweet, unearthly collection of sounds. The two traveled through the catacombs, deep into the underground levels of the Paris Opera house, a place that few had seen, and even fewer had lived to tell about. The music still rose and swelled as Christine crossed an underground lake, the music making her almost glide across the surface of the water. The music had reached its peak as Christine's feet were met with solid ground below them. As the final heavenly notes were played, the shadow disappeared, restoring Christine's natural state of consciousness and leaving her face-to-face with a mysterious masked man.


	2. A Madman

Erik stared at the obviously confused young woman in front of him, surveying her surroundings with wide and terrified glances. He stood to take a better look at her. Although he was confident that she could do him no harm, he still did not like intruders in his residence.

"Who sent you?" he demanded harshly, taking slow steps toward the trembling girl.

"I…I don't know, monsieur."

In the blink of an eye, Erik was standing beside the girl with her chin grasped in one hand. "Do not toy with me," he warned. "I have killed for less, and I don't know mercy, even for a weak girl such as yourself. So I will ask you again: who sent you?"

His question was met with a terrified silence. Christine tried to search her brain for something, but to no avail. She had no recollection of how she got here, or even where she was. The last thing she remembered was…. "Music," she replied unwillingly, her eyes hazy still.

"Pardon me?" he sighed, growing weary of her games. She had his attention now, nonetheless…

Christine thought harder still, trying to recall anything that could be useful. "I was at home and heard this strange music, but it sounded far away." She shook her head in frustration. "That's all I remember."

Erik stared at her with a questioning glance. "Did it sound like this, perhaps?" He walked back over to his organ and pounded out the beginning notes of a song.

Christine's eyes snapped open. "Yes! That was it!" Excitement filled her voice.

"Impossible…" Erik whispered, more to himself than to her.

"I swear to you, monsieur. I remember, it was like the music was calling me. I spoke to me like nothing else ever has. It's like it understood me," she recalled, though Erik seemed uninterested at this point.

"Well then," he said, clapping his hands together, "I'm sure you have a family who is no doubt looking for you by now, so best you run along before they get too worried."

"Actually, monsieur, I don't."

"Absurd," he dismissed her claim with a wave of his hand. "You must have a family. There's no way that a girl your age could fare very well on her own."

"I do have something like a family," she lowered her head, "but no one that would bother looking for me. In fact, they are likely celebrating in my absence."

Her comment struck a nerve with Erik, and for once, he gazed at her with understanding. "I see. Then, other arrangements will have to be made," he remarked, his hands twitching down by his side. "Regrettably, my accommodations are hardly formidable," he motioned around himself at the dungeon in which he resides. A good excuse, he reasoned. In reality, despite its location, his living accommodations were more than suitable for anyone of any status; however, he could not fathom coexisting with another soul here, much less a child, even for a single night.

Erik's eyes suddenly got wide, and completely ignoring Christine's presence, he rushed over to his organ. He began feverishly pounding out notes and writing them down on a piece of paper in front of him, barely bothering to breathe in between actions. Christine could physically feel the passion and determination radiating from him, yet still responded to him with confusion. It was like he was possessed…the way he snapped into this musical coma without warning. She tried calling out to him, but to no avail: he remained locked in his world, completely oblivious to his surroundings. This went on for hours. Christine had eventually given up on him and begun exploring his lair, learning every possible secret that it contained.

During her exploration, she took particular interest in what appeared to be his bed room. It was shockingly barren and appeared to be seldom used. His bed showed no evidence that it had been slept in recently…no indentation of his body, or any other signs of use. _Curious… _Other than the bed, the only other piece of furniture in the room was a simple writing desk that contained some complicated looking papers filled with notes and melodies.

"Such an obsession…his music," Christine mused aloud, reaching out to run a hand lightly over his work. This whole place…the whole situation felt completely unreal to her.

"What are you doing?" A voice boomed from behind, making Christine gasp and spin around.

"I was just…" Christine stumbled over her words, not knowing what she should say. What could she say that would assuage this man's obviously explosive temper? Erik raised an eyebrow. "Please forgive me, monsieur. You were busy with your music, so I….I was just looking around, trying to entertain myself."

"I would be wise for you to avoid forbidden territory." Before Christine even had a chance to blink, Erik was beside her, snatching up all of his papers from the desk and holding them protectively.

"I apologize." Christine bowed her head and reached out to lightly touch Erik's arm. His whole body stiffened at her touch, his arm burning where her hand was. Sensing his discomfort, Christine pulled her hand away and let it drop down to her side.

"Yes, well…" Erik stammered nervously, shifting the papers in his hand. "You will have to forgive me, my dear. You see, when inspiration hits, it mustn't be ignored, and Erik's not used to having company…"

"Erik," Christine repeated, trying the name out on her lips. "So that must be your name, then: Erik." He simply nodded.

"And what should I call you then, mademoiselle?"

"Christine is fine." She extended her hand, wishing to provide a proper greeting. Erik simply stared at the hand in front of him, mistrusting of a woman's touch. Christine awkwardly withdrew her hand and stood in silence, waiting for him to make the next move, considering he seemed to be the more suspicious of the two.

"Well, Christine, no doubt you are tired, so we must find somewhere or you to retire for the night. If you will, mademoiselle," he spoke, motioning with his hand for her to proceed forward. In reality, he did not really care for her wellbeing or if she was tired…he simply wanted her presence out of his home. He carefully led her through the twisting catacombs careful that not even a fleeting touch from his hand should graze her. Where she was concerned, he remained as distant as possible. After what seemed to her like miles of walking, they finally came upon a solid wooden door. With a slight wave of his hand, which could have been missed with simply a blink, Erik unlocked the door and pushed it open, waiting for Christine to go inside.

"This is one of the unused dancer's quarters, so you should be able to stay hidden here for the time being. That being said, I wouldn't linger too long…it's only a matter of time before somebody happens to find you here. So the sooner that you find new accommodations, the better" he warned coldly, again, not truly caring what became of her.

"Thank you, Erik," she said gratefully. "I truly do appreciate it." A slight smile crossed her features, nonverbally showing this man that her gratitude was sincere.

"Goodnight then," he spoke hastily, wishing to return to his solitude.

"Wait! Will I ever see you again?" Her words were threaded with an unmistakable sound of hope, although futile.

"No," was all that Erik said, and before she knew it, he was gone, and all she could see was darkness…


End file.
